


You Belong With Me

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Spock, pining jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the Taylor Swift song. Yeah, that one. </p><p>Spock is the oblivious jock with the wrong girlfriend, and Jim is his hopelessly dorky never-more-than-a-friend. Includes deception, betrayal, and sexuality crises abound!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_tap, tap_

The sound of something small hitting his window woke Jim up. It took him a second to process the yellow light streaming in, illuminating the numbers on the face of the ancient alarm clock by his bed. Huh. He was still wearing his clothes and boots. He pawed at his eyes and let his glasses fall back on his nose. 9 o’ clock…

He smacked his lips, wondering why he was so hungry. Sure, it was later than he usually woke up, but—

“Shit,” he groaned and shot up, letting the Vonnegut book on his chest thump onto the bed. He’d fallen asleep reading. Damn. He’d be late for school. He hadn’t done any homework yet. As much as Jim Kirk cared for his reputation as one apathetic about all things scholarly, he  _always_ got his homework done. He jumped to stuff the papers haphazardly strewn across the floor into his bag, bumping his head on his desk when he straightened again.

“Shit!” he repeated, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head. He sighed. Why couldn’t anything go his way?

_tap, tap_

“And what the  _fuck_ is that noise?” he demanded of the gods so obviously mocking him. He heard a louder sound, more like someone rapping sharply on wood.

“Kirk! May I ask what you think you’re accomplishing right now?”  Jim flushed and turned around to look at his window, really look at it. He released a breath of air he hadn’t been aware he was holding. The light was coming from Spock’s room. It was still dark out, and he could see Spock’s stiff form sitting at his window, his streamlined silhouette breathtaking against the bright light.  _Fuck,_ Jim thought as he went to open his own window,  _I’m not some pre-pubescent girl. I can get through a conversation without thinking about his stupid pointy ears or his stupid black bowl cut._ Spock had a ghost of a smile on his face that faltered as soon as Jim reached to turn on the lamp by his window. He couldn’t be sure it had even been there. Spock didn’t smile, couldn’t, and even if he did, he hadn’t had much reason to lately.

“So, I take it it’s actually twenty-one hundred right now?” Jim asked, trying out his Spock-talk. His conversation partner nodded once, his hair motionless. How much gel did this guy use?

“Yes. I take it you fell asleep once again in your attempt to undertake studying?” Jim laughed. He’d already studied, actually. He was waiting for Spock to get home so he could wheedle information out of him about his lovers’ spat with Uhura, but Jim would never admit that. He put on his best pout and crossed his arms, kneeling so his eyes were even with Spock’s.

“What better way to get the young prodigy’s attentions than by beating him in every class?” He teased right back, taking a perverse joy in telling Spock the truth, even if he was joking. Spock’s patented smiling-but-not-really smile came back and stayed. He dropped the pebbles in his hand ( _pebbles? what is this, some holo from the 21 st century, _Jim thought), and rested his chin on the palm of a slender hand. He absentmindedly tapped his long fingers against his cheekbone and Jim found himself entranced by the small movement.

“Kirk? Would you be averse to hearing an anecdote from me?” Spock asked in a way that was more of a warning than an actual question. Jim shook his head anyway. This was it. Spock would tell him that he’d finally broken up with Uhura, that it turned out she wasn’t his type after all, that his type was more of the kind with a dick than with boobs. Then, Jim felt bad. Spock was having a serious problem and here he was, wishing a sexuality crisis upon him on top of it. He was such a sucky friend. Spock’s small sigh, barely audible over the two meters distance between them, brought him back to reality.

“It’s just…” he trailed off, seemed to doubt himself. His deep brown eyes, completely black in the dim light, caught Jim’s for a moment before flicking back to a spot of peeling white paint on his window frame. He found his words again, encouraged by Jim’s uncharacteristic silence, “…Nyota seems to have unintentionally forgotten that I am half-Vulcan. I do not have emotions, and I certainly do not express them for her reputation’s sake.” For an emotionless Vulcan, he seemed pretty pained, but Jim decided to keep that to himself. He adopted the voice he only ever used with Spock, soft and confident and open, in a way he never was with anyone else (except maybe Bones. Maybe.).

“Hey. Humans can be a little forgetful at times. We’re flawed, yeah, but we’re also really good at certain things. Wanna know something?” he asked, a smile creeping up on his face. Spock nodded eagerly, intrigued.

“One thing humans are awesome at is love. Just ask Nyota to give you some lovin’ in return next time she asks for something like that. I give you my word she won’t disappoint.” Spock’s eyes glazed over. He looked overwhelmed with the implications of what he’d just learned.  _He doesn’t know what he’s in for_ , Jim thought with a smirk. He suppressed the cries coming from his under-developed conscience.

“Night, Spock.” He called and closed his blinds, settling in to finish his homework. Spock still seemed to be lost in thought.

 ~*~

When Jim fell asleep that night, he rationalized his actions with the classic earth phrase invoked in times such as these; _al_ _l’s fair in love and war._


	2. Chapter 2

Jim arrived at school an hour early the next day. He’d forgone the typical shuttlebus in favor of his rusted red bike from an era before hover wheels, and his body was complaining. Adjusting the seat of jeans, he gingerly tiptoed through the empty hallways.  _Finally,_ he thought with satisfaction,  _I beat him._  By the time he got to the History of Space Exploration classroom, he was whistling and had an undeniable skip in his step. Jim went inside and dropped his bag in the seat closest to the window.  He turned to Spock’s empty seat on the other side of the classroom and mimicked shooting a phaser at it, complete with accurate sound effects. Then a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Mr. Pike’s chair swiveled around to reveal Spock. He looked remarkably like a diabolical mob boss about to order his henchmen to their ultimate demise, complete with the scowling face and plotting eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest,

“This is the third time you have made an attempt to arrive at school earlier than I, Mister Kirk,” his eyes stopped twinkling and he dropped his hands to his lap. Jim would swear on his father’s grave that the Vulcan sighed in exasperation, “You are aware that I require less sleep than you to function? Why you persist in your efforts to ‘beat’ me escapes my knowledge, but it would be gratifying to me if you ceased.”

Jim gasped, putting his hand to his heart in mock horror.

“Spock, I’m hurt! And besides,” he said airily, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I had stuff to do anyway.” Turning away to act as if he was interested in something on his PADD, he didn’t notice Spock’s ears and cheeks flush a faint green.

Spock muttered something under his breath about illogical humans failing to grasp the point of anything and then stiffly stalked out of the room.

“That went well,” Jim sighed and dropped his head onto his desk a bit harder than intended.

“Ow.”

 

Fifty eight minutes later, Jim watched the last of his classmates trickle in from the hallway. At Starfleet Prep, the later you came in, the higher up on the social totem pole you were. Of course, Uhura’s clique came in with seconds to spare. Uhura’s arm was encircled around the waist of a clearly-uncomfortable Spock.  Jim had asked him once why he allowed her to do shit like that, and Spock had told him that his positive feelings for her outweighed his negative feelings toward public displays of affection. It just figured that Spock would be the accommodating sort of boyfriend, flexible and eager to please and Jim  _really_ wasn’t going to let his mind go there right now.

He couldn’t hide his smile as he gave Spock an enthusiastic wave, however. Some of the tension drained out of Spock’s shoulders and Uhura used the opportunity to pull him closer and whisper something in his ear. Then she looked right at Jim and winked.

Jim hissed at her under his breath. He wasn’t above acting catty if she insisted on bragging. Mr. Pike marched into the classroom at the same time as the first bell rang. He closed the door behind him and the students collectively let out a sigh of relief. Everyone in the school knew that Mr. Pike disciplined the whole class for latecomers and everyone in the school equally dreaded those disciplinary actions. All of The History of Space Exploration class was there, for once.  _Safe for now_ , Jim thought.

Then Mr. Pike launched into a continuation of Monday’s lecture on the significance of dilithium crystals and Jim struggled to make it look like he wasn’t hanging onto every word. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

~*~

Leonard “Bones” McCoy was the sort of person to make a bulleted list of his life’s regrets, for reasons he would disclose to no one. He did, in fact, have such a list.  It only had one bullet point, but it was a very important one.  _Regret #1: Befriending James Tiberius Kirk._

He was reminded of his list as Jim clapped him on the shoulder on his way to their tree in the courtyard, narrowly avoiding a spillage of his tray full of unhealthy food.  

“Hey, Bones! Enjoying the view?” he asked more innocently than a boy with his history should be able to sound, and then he was gone, leaving Bones sputtering indignantly with his hands on his hips. So what if he had paused in the hallway for a bit longer than necessary? And it meant absolutely nothing that where he had stopped offered him an excellent vantage point of Carol Marcus’s locker. Absolutely nothing. He scowled and groaned at his misfortune and followed Jim outside. If he stopped and looked back once or twice, it had nothing to do with the platinum blond girl laughing at something someone had said.  Absolutely nothing.

Bones thought about the way she laughed, full bodied and unashamed, and he smiled. That is, he was smiling until he got to the old oak in the corner of the courtyard and was confronted by a smug Jim Kirk.

“Did you actually  _speak_ with her instead of just scowling at her?” He asked. “I can’t believe it. I thought you’d never pluck up the courage—“

“You’re one to talk!” the aforementioned scowl was back, the only trace of a smile hidden in Bones’s eyes. “When are you going to get over Uhura? She’s taken and you’re so far from her type, it’s stopped being funny. It’s just sad, you idiot.” Jim grinned and licked his lips, looking down at the pizza slice in his hands. He didn’t say anything, which was drastically out of character, and Bones had to wonder what he was planning.

“Jim?” It was less of a question and more of a threat, the slight growl in his voice a warning that bodily harm would come to Jim if he didn’t confess right then and there. Jim tore his eyes away from the greasy carb monstrosity in his hands. It was the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that scared Bones more than anything. He plopped down next to his cross-legged friend and waited for him to speak. Jim always did like suspense.

When Jim could wait no longer, he blurted out, “I’m going to tell her on Friday, after the game.” Bones let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Are you joking? A week before the dance? The dance that she’s been planning for since fourth grade? The dance that she’s going to with Spock? Dammit, Jim, if you weren’t in such a sorry state, I’d laugh at you.”

Jim dropped the pizza back on the plate and plucked a blade of grass from the ground. He twirled it around his finger, enjoying the tickling sensation it imparted.  After a long time, he quietly said,

“Yeah. But I have to tell h— ,” he choked on the word and Bones awkwardly patted his forearm, “—her before then. I don’t know why. I just have to.” Jim frowned and narrowed his eyes at his friend,

“Bones. You’ll tell no one of this. If you do, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Too late, Jim. You’ve been making my life hell since that first shuttle ride nine years ago.”

~*~

After Jim had tossed his bag in the general direction of his desk and had done a few stretches to get rid of his post-bike ride soreness, he was surprised to hear raised voices coming from Spock’s room. As covertly as possible, he snuck over to his window and pushed it open, wincing at every squeak of the rusty frame sliding against it. He questioned his intelligence when Spock pivoted to face him. Vulcans had superhuman hearing. Right. Still, Jim sent Spock his best innocent smile, complete with puppy dog eyes and a helpless shrug. Spock sighed but his eyes warmed, the comm device still in his hands, Uhura’s voice still streaming from it. Spock lifted up a single finger in the universal sign for ‘Wait a minute.’

“…Spock, I can’t believe you would say something like that. And about  _me,_ of all people. I don’t care if you were joking, it hurts when you imply I care more about winning the title than deserving it. I deserve to be Prom Queen, Spock!” _More trouble in paradise?_ , Jim thought, only to be hit with guilt moments later. Spock looked like he was choosing his words carefully,

“Nyota, you are better suited to the title than anyone else. You exemplify the qualities necessary for a good ‘Prom Queen’, from your good judgment to your loyalty. Your aesthetically pleasing features are also a factor in your potential for a good queen.”  _Did Spock just call her…_

“Spock. Did you just call me pretty?” Uhura sounded exasperated, but Jim caught a hint of fondness in her words. Hopefully he had imagined it. Spock straightened his back even more, defying the laws of physics, and put his unoccupied hand at the small of his back,

“I suppose I did.” A sigh from the other side of the comm device.

“I have to go work on my cheers. See you tomorrow, Spock.” With a click that signified the termination of the call, Spock’s shoulders slumped minutely. He flipped the top back on the device and set it down a little harder than necessary on his desk. His brow furrowed, he turned to Jim. He looked troubled.

“I regret you had to witness that unpleasant conversation.” Jim tried to exude assuredness and contentment, a small part of him hoping emotions really could be contagious and that lost expression on Spock’s face would be replaced with one of confidence.

“She just doesn’t get your humor, Spock.”  _not like I do,_ he added wryly, just for himself “She’ll definitely forgive you. You called her pretty and, contrary to popular belief, Uhura is just as affected by compliments as any other human.”

Spock gave him a look, the one Jim hadn’t translated yet. It was a look reserved solely for him, and one he was granted in the most unexpected times. It was one he found himself scrambling to earn again.

“Thank you, Jim.” He said, and nodded minutely before closing his blinds. Jim scrunched up his nose in a face Bones had likened to ‘a puppy about to sneeze’. Something about that farewell seemed strange.  He only realized what it was when he tucked in for bed.

 _Jim._ That was the first time in his memory that Spock had ever used his first name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, Ella. You're the best! (Darn you, Maddy)


	3. Chapter 3

The worst thing was that Spock had probably known the beating was coming before it happened. Some of the punks from the Romulan team had cornered him after the game and, from what Jim could extract from Spock, two of them had held him down while a third exhausted himself punching Spock’s face endlessly.

After the assailant broke his thumb, Spock had calmly disengaged his arms from his captors and knocked them out with a nerve pinch. That was about when Jim caught up with them. He witnessed Spock give the Romulan a lesson in proper fighting form.

“…You must be mindful about where you place your thumb. Placing it inside your fist only invites injury. Now, if you put it  _here,”_ Spock raised a curled fist in demonstration, “you will inflict the most damage upon your opponent, and receive minimal discomfort in return. Would you like me to show you?”

Jim could have sworn Spock was about to go ahead and punch the boy sprawled, completely helpless, at his feet. He was about to intervene and save Spock from the guilt he’d undoubtedly feel later about resorting to violence. Thankfully, the appearance of a group of adults rendered his intervention unnecessary. Sarek, Spock’s father, was among the group. He seemed to grimace at the tableau on display. Well, his face tightened. That was the closest to an expression of emotion that Jim had ever seen cross the elder Vulcan’s face.

Spock’s eyes widened and he lowered his arm. He grasped his fist behind his back, straightened, and addressed Sarek when he spoke,

“Father, these three were under the impression that I had used performance enhancing steroids. I believe I corrected their false assumption.”

Sarek nodded once and, in that simple gesture, conveyed his understanding and approval.

Jim’s non-Vulcan mind was still reeling. He walked over to Spock despite the small crowd the altercation had gathered. The leader of the trio had roused his friends to the world of consciousness and tugged them along on his frantic way out. Jim’s heart gave an unwelcome lurch at the sight of Spock wiping away the blood flowing from his split lip. A faint smear of forest green on the back of his right hand and a blossoming bruise on his cheek were all the evidence that remained of the fight. Ignoring the growing hum of the people surrounding them, Jim asked him,

“You sure you’re okay?” and winced as soon as the words passed his lips. Of course he was. Spock was always okay.  _Spock, Spock, solid as a rock_ , Jim hummed to himself and looked over Spock once more, fully appreciating his friend's solidity. Spock opened his mouth to speak,

“I— Nyota!”

Uhura appeared from nowhere, pounced on Spock, and pecked the crest of his bruised cheekbone. She was smiling widely and her posse was giggling a few feet away. Spock looked simultaneously gratified and displeased. When Uhura spoke, her voice was low and sultry and Jim couldn’t help the shiver of disgust that coursed through his body.

“I heard what you did, Baby. I heard you took out three Romulans on your own. That’s so amazing, like, I can’t wait to tell everyone!” She pulled away and clasped her hands together like an echo of the cheers she’d performed on the rink not an hour ago. Her expression grew wistful and Spock’s face shut down. His shoulders stiffened and Jim bristled.

“Oh my god, it’s not like he was just  _attacked_ or anything, Nyota!”

“It’s Uhura to you, Kirk,” she snapped, deigning to speak to him. Jim was taken aback, then had to bite his lip to restain his smile. He’d actually provoked a response this time. Nevertheless, she went back to Spock and grabbed his hand fiercely. Her eyes lazily roved from their tangled fingers to the marks on his face. He flushed faint green and readjusted his stance, looking like a completely different Vulcan from the one that had nearly beat a guy’s face in moments before. Jim’s mouth dropped open as Uhura led Spock away – and Spock just let her.

Jim crossed his arms and glared at their receding forms. 

_Oh,_ he thought, _it’s on._

~*~

“Dammit, Jim! I thought you didn’t want to go to this party,” Bones had said when Jim showed up at his door wearing his partying clothes and a sheepish grin.

“You thought wrong.” Jim ducked under Bones’s outstretched arm and laughed at his friend’s incredulous expression.

“No. You said, and I quote: ‘I would never go to that bullshit party with its bullshit bass-heavy music and its bullshit red solo cups and its bullshit attendees’. I remember that, because you said it while  _Carol was still standing right in front of us.”_

His resolve weakened when Jim brought out the puppy dog eyes.

“No. Fuck you. That won’t work on me,” Bones said, but his resolve broke entirely when Jim’s eyes dropped to the floor, one hand met the other behind his back, and his feet shuffled side to side like the child he was. Bones sighed and closed the front door. He went into his room to change and muttered under his breath,

“Fuck you and your fucking face, James Tiberius Kirk.”

“I heard that!” Jim called, grinning because he knew Bones was rolling his eyes in the next room. “Besides, Carol will be happy that she’s not the only one there with an IQ over 60.”

~*~

The party was in full swing by the time they walked up the trash-littered drive. Jim had been to parties before, but never one of Scotty’s. The walls of the house were shaking from bass reverberations. Fairy lights strung along high points on the walls were rigged to flash alternating neon colors. There was a small green alien hanging out on the chandelier, throwing confetti down on a swarm of dancers who shrieked with joy. A red-headed Orion girl was dancing on a coffee table with three awed boys who looked like they couldn’t believe their luck. Jim’s nostrils were accosted by the smell of sweat and spilled beer and  _life._

And Jim couldn’t wait to join in. Here, no one cared that he was the son of a dead ship captain. They looked at him and saw a slightly gawky teen in tight jeans and a white tee shirt. He looked at Bones, who was trying— and failing— to contain a smile, and extended a hand,

“C’mon Bones, it’ll be fun!”

Bones scowled at his hand as if it had insulted his mother, and Jim shrugged it off. He’d learned long ago that Bones showed his love through carefully measured indifference. He then encouraged Bones to go find Carol in the crowd. Jim had a Vulcan to seduce, and he couldn’t very well do that with his friend tagging along. Unfortunately, he’d have to find said Vulcan first.

“Oi, Cap!” he heard a familiar Scottish accent shout in his direction as he craned his head to survey the mass of bodies surrounding the (spiked) punch bowl. He sighed, but had to smile because it was Scotty, and no one could be mad at Scotty for longer than it took to take their next breath.

“Scott! Hey, do you know where I can find Spock?” Scotty was holding two red plastic cups, one halfway drained and the other one sipped down to the last dregs of foam. He cocked his ginger head in confusion and Jim sighed again. If there was one downside to loud music, it was this.

“Spock,” he shouted over the din, “Where is he?” Scotty’s eyes widened and he shook his head frantically.

“Ye shouldn’t go after ‘im right now. Someone’s pissed him off, and ye can guess how volatile a pissed off Vulcan is.” Jim frowned and nodded, wondering what could make Spock angry enough to display it. He excused himself and promptly went after Spock. He hadn’t been that great of a friend as of late, and he certainly wasn’t going to continue that streak.

He asked two of the kids in he and Spock’s astronomy class, Chekov and Sulu, and they had no idea where he might have been. Jim almost asked Bones to help him look, but he and Carol appeared to be engaged in an absolutely  _riveting_ discussion on the newest issue of Science Weekly. He was about to give up and accept both defeat and the Orion girl’s invitation to dance when Spock’s black bowl cut appeared in the doorway. He wove deftly around the bodies in a way unlike any other growing teen, and he was standing before Jim in moments. 

_Huh,_ Jim thought,  _so this is what an emotionally compromised Vulcan looks like?_ And then Spock’s hand had grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt and his mouth was inches away from Jim’s ear. Jim had to summon up the memory of that one time he’d walked in on Bones singing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun in his underwear to preserve the last shreds of dignity he had. He wasn’t going to get a boner now, not in the middle of a crowded dancefloor full of upperclassmen.

“Kirk,” Spock snarled, his breath rich and saccharine sweet, “we need to talk.”

Jim could only nod as Spock dragged him by his shirt upstairs and into a dark, deserted room. He wondered briefly if he was dreaming – probably. He could remember more than one of his dreams that started out similarly. None of them had Spock looking like this, though.

The Vulcan flicked on the light to reveal their location as Scotty’s rather messy bedroom. Before Jim could take the time to admire the models of starship engines clustered in the far corner, Spock was on him again. He couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it, though. Not with the rough way Spock had his hand splayed across his chest, immobilizing him. Not with Spock’s eyes glinting violently, or with Spock’s face as stony as it had been when Jim had made the mistake of questioning his ability to love his mother years ago. For a tense moment, they stood like that, their chests heaving and Jim confused as hell and Spock looking like he wanted to murder someone.

“My  _girlfriend,_ Kirk? I was aware of your… habits, but I never imagined the scenario that you would extend your flippant manner on women towards _my_  girlfriend _.”_  Spock’s voice was acidic, eroding any semblance of coolness Jim had retained up to that point.

“What are you talking about, Spock?”

Spock made a sound filled with utter disgust and withdrew from Jim. He turned his back to him and, although Jim couldn’t see the hurt in his face, he could see the way Spock’s knuckles strained white as he clasped his hands at the base of his spine. Spock seemed to be struggling again with the urge he had to punch someone.

“I was under the impression that ‘friends’ respected each other’s relationships. I regret to admit that I was mistaken,” he spun around suddenly and Jim managed not to outwardly flinch when Spock’s hands flew out from behind his back, only to lower them again and straighten the hem of black shirt. He avoided Jim’s eyes and when he spoke, his voice quavered once, and then steadied with determination.

“Perhaps we were never friends. Perhaps you only spent time in my presence for the sole purpose of furthering your relationship with Nyota.”

Jim gasped.  _How--_

_“_ No, Spock! I’d never…” he trailed off and ran a shaking hand through his already mussed hair. Spock looked up again, a faint glimmer of hope shining in his eye. Jim clutched onto that hope and used it as fuel for his next words.

“…I’d never do that. God, Spock. You mean as much to me as anyone. I’ll admit it, Uhura’s not bad looking, but she’s scary as fuck and you don’t really think she’d even let me near her, do you? But that’s not even important. The point is I would never do that to you. I’d never even  _think_  of doing that to you. You’re my—I mean. I couldn’t?” Jim floundered towards the end. He figured that now wasn’t exactly the optimal time to confess his undying love to Spock, not with an emotionally compromised Vulcan who really needed someone to take his rage out on. So he decided to play the best friend.

He cautiously moved over to Spock, hands up in a placating gesture that one typically uses with a feral animal. Spock took Jim’s movements in, his body defensive and eyes guarded. His shoulders still fell the second Jim’s hand made tentative contact with his forearm, however. Jim let out a huff of air he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and a smile spread across his face. Spock’s eyebrow rose minutely and Jim could have sung with joy.

“You believe me? We’re okay?”

Spock hesitated, but trained his shining eyes on Jim,

“I trust the veracity of your claims. However, I am not completely assured that we are, as you so eloquently put it, ‘okay’.”

To keep from doing something stupid like kissing the dubious expression off the Vulcan’s face, Jim patted his back and pulled him in for an extremely awkward one arm hug,

“Love you, brah,” he said with as little gravity as he could manage.

Spock stiffened but didn’t pull away. Jim almost wished that he had. As it was, he ended the hug and backed up about a yard. He scratched the back of his neck and examined Spock’s shoes. Practical slip-ons, black like the rest of his outfit.

“Comm me later, okay?” He blurted out, and then left the room without waiting for an answer. He was going to drag Bones out of Scotty’s house, out of Riverside, out of Iowa, and then he was going to make Bones promise to never let him near Spock again. Ever.

He missed the way the corner of Spock’s mouth quirked and the way Spock’s hand drifted to one spot on his forearm that seemed to burn hotter than the rest of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa sorry this took so long. Thanks, Ella + Maddy! x


	4. Chapter 4

Spock did indeed comm Jim later, much to Jim’s dismay. He hadn’t wanted to talk about what happened between them, because something felt like it had changed. He didn’t want to analyze it enough that he’d find out what. Fortunately, he could always count on Spock to avoid such conversations. He only comm’ed to ask Jim is he was free the next day and, although it was 2 am and Jim should have been in bed dreaming of dancing sugarplums and shiny new cars, he practically leapt at the chance of a ‘date’ with Spock. That’s what he was calling it, anyway.

 ~*~

The sun rose on a regretfully foggy day in Riverside, Iowa. Spock seemed to be in an overcast mood as well when he came to pick Jim up _way_ too early in the morning. Jim frowned, but didn’t ask. No heavy emotions right now, he reminded himself. He’d start with something neutral,

“You up for coffee?” Spock nodded and Jim’s stomach felt like it was mimicking the minute up-and-down. He almost laughed. They were going for their first coffee date, and all it had taken was Spock nearly choking Jim to death. They walked in silence half of the way to a little shop Jim loved. Café Fleet was on the border between the suburbs and downtown, nestled between a tall apartment building and an even taller office building.

Jim sighed. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a matter of minutes around Spock.

“So… how are things with Nyota?”

Jim’s eyes were drawn to the sudden tautness of the front of Spock’s dorky navy blue bubble vest., as if two fists had just clenched tight in the pockets. He hummed in commiseration and focused on two silhouetted figures in the distance. An old man who was walking what appeared to be a mastiff approximately the size of a pony.

“Relationship problems. I feel you,” he brought cupped fingers up to his mouth and exhaled hot air into them. He rubbed his hands together and chanced a glance at Spock. If his friend were a cat rather than a Vulcan, Jim would say his ears were perked up. He grinned in spite of himself.

“I can’t find anyone willing to go with me to the dance. I’ve asked quite a few. Carol Marcus, way before I knew she wouldn’t be interested in someone as unintellectual as me. Uhura, actually. Hey! If you guys were more publicly _together_ I wouldn’t have considered it. Er. Gaila. She said yes, but then she found two men to accompany her instead. I even asked Gary Mitchell, can you believe that?” Jim threw his head back and laughed. Spock used the opportunity to kick at a stupid rust-covered tin can that had the audacity to be in his path. Jim relaxed the fingers he’d been using to count his failed attempts and wiped at his eyes.

“Look, there it is!” He practically ran, his mouth already watering at the thought of the Fleet’s flaky, buttery croissants. The ones larger than his head. Spock was caught off guard by Jim’s apparent familiarity with the Andorian behind the counter.

“Talas, how’ve you been?” Her antennae danced slightly, with pleasure. After they placed their orders, Spock sent Jim a questioning eyebrow quirk.

“Oh. I come here after school sometimes to do my homework.” was his explanation. It raised more questions than it answered, however. Like, when did Jim find the time to come here? He always did his homework in his bedroom, Spock had thought. That’s what his own observations had proved. Of course, some afternoons were unaccounted for. The ones where Spock was either at practice, chess club (he loved it and he _really_ didn’t care that it was “lame”), or hanging out with Uhura. Frown lines marred his brow as his mind tried to figure out this new influx of information regarding Jim.

“I could use some help over here, Spock!” he heard someone shout. Jim was balancing a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, and a rather large bag with a greasy bottom. Spock’s brow freed of creases and he wrestled with his illogical urge to laugh. He rushed to Jim’s aid, took the two steaming travel cups in his hands, and left Jim to clutch at his, now wrinkled, bag.  He shrugged apologetically at Jim’s playful glare and his stuck-out tongue. Jim waved it off and inhaled deeply, grinning at the scent of freshly baked goods that filled his nostrils.

“Let’s go to the park.”

~*~

The sun had burned off the morning fog by the time they got to Kirk Park. Spock was as close to smiling as he ever was. He was in his element. Jim, however, was sweating. He tugged at the collar of his thermal jacket, wondering why he’d even worn this in the first place. Oh right, the nearly freezing weather that the weatherwoman had predicted. _Fuck you, Brenda Berry,_ he thought bitterly. He threw the rest of his coffee away. Too hot. He peeked at his croissant. Also too hot. After a second, he gave it to the bum with the cardboard paper sign on the curbside. He looked up at Jim gratefully and Jim just saluted him and carried on. He wanted to get his butt on the swing set before a bratty kid could. Spock followed him, sparing a nod for the old man nibbling at the steaming pastry in his hands.

Jim’s pace quickened the closer he was to the swings. Finally, he leapt at one. It groaned and creaked. It was, after all, nearly as old as Jim himself. Spock found himself stopped in his tracks. He stared up at Jim, who was already as high as the swings would allow.

Spock tried to quash the pattering of his heart, born out of concern for Jim’s wellbeing and the age of the swing set. He forced himself to sit on a nearby bench and sip quietly at his tea until Jim tired himself out. Up there, on the rickety chain swing, Jim could be the child he truly was, the one he never allowed himself to be. His face was free of the false expression he so often adopted, the devil-may-care smile, and was filled with genuine mirth. Spock covertly looked around, ensuring they were the only occupants of the park. He was gratified to see that the nearest person was the old bum, still slowly savoring the croissant. He cocooned himself in Jim’s joy and allowed himself a small smile.

 

An hour later, they were lying on the green grass beside the duck pond, just talking.  Spock talked about how he was progressing in the chess circuit, Jim playfully feigned disinterest. Jim laughed about his recent dating mishaps and Spock bitterly feigned disinterest. Spock found himself strongly opposed to the female Jim was talking about now. He didn’t even know her name, didn’t know yet if she was a god date yet, but he knew she wasn’t good for Jim. He inwardly cursed his emotions on the matter and took to redirecting the conversation to the most recent scientific developments, the career paths they might follow in the future, really anything but Jim’s dating life. He was passionately talking about the possible improvements to warp capability in starships when Jim reached out to his hair. Spock’s words stuck in his throat and he warily watched as Jim plucked something up and flicked it away.

“Blade of grass,” he explained innocently, and shrugged. Spock narrowed his eyes. If that were true, was it necessary for Jim to rake his hand through Spock’s hair. He appeared intent on returning it to pristine condition, a look of concentration screwing his face while he fussed with Spock’s bangs. Spock batted his hand away and Jim groaned. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

“It doesn’t look right.” He frowned, took both hands to each side of Spock’s head, and rubbed. An high pitched squeak he would adamantly deny making in years to come escaped Spock. He leapt up, and Jim followed. He appeared to be restraining laughter.

“What are you doing?”

“Hey, did you know that your voice gets really girly when someone messes with your hair?”

“It would be wise of you to silence yourself, Jim,” Spock shoved him. He shoved back. It could have easily devolved into a wrestling match.

“Wait. Someone is approaching,” Spock froze. His breath came in light pants and he shared a concerned look with Jim. Apparently, not someone he wanted to see. Uhura came crashing through the low brush. Well, she leapt over them, graceful as a doe, but that was just semantics.

“Spock,” she said in measured tones, “I had to ask that man on the corner if he’d seen you, and that was _after_ I tried that cramped café. I’ve been looking for ages.” Spock was on his feet and at her side instantaneously, all semblance of emotion wiped off his face.

“You do realize today’s the day we were supposed to go shopping for matching outfits? It’s last minute enough as is. I hope we don’t get stuck with yellow now.” She bopped his nose, either ignoring Jim really well or genuinely not aware of his presence.  He took in as his cue to leave. Still a little breathless, he began the long trek back to his house.

Spock’s face tightened. Once he was sure Jim was out of earshot, he turned on Nyota.

“What is the real reason you sought me out?” She smiled sadly and patted his arm. He accepted it.

“Spock, we’re going to this dance together, okay? After that, you’re free to tell him and everyone else. Until then, let’s at least pretend to be the happy couple everyone expects us to be.”

 


End file.
